An Almost Tragedy in Two Parts
by Malebranche
Summary: SakuragiRukawa (Yaoi) Rukawa is not perfect, espcially when it comes to Sakuragi, and Sakuragi is tired of waiting. (It's done)
1. Rukawa's Trepidation

Today is three full years of Sakuragi.

Sakuragi is so alive, always on the move, his energy a living bolt of electricity that sparks and threatens to set fire to everything and everyone, dangerous and beautiful all at the same time. Somehow, Sakuragi has stayed near Rukawa for three years, and he hasn't been burnt, not once.

Rukawa can't bring himself to believe it. Each day, he wakes up at the break of dawn and sees the flaming head next to him on the pillow, feels a toned arm thrown possessively across his stomach, feels Sakuragi's soft breath on the nape of his neck and thinks, _Has he finally burned me? Is this heaven?_

And then he kicks himself for being such a sap, and pulls out from under those lovely limbs and takes a cold shower, not wanting to wake up the spectre in his bed for fear that he would disappear. These showers are always rushed, always quick, as though if he took too long Sakuragi would not be there when he came back.

But he always is. And Rukawa can never stop himself from kneeling at the side of the futon, drinking in Sakuragi's face in the growing sunlight, waiting for something that never seemed to come. His thoughts during this time are chaotic and confused. He knows there is something he is supposed to do, something he is supposed to say, because whenever Sakuragi looks at him, there is longing and sometimes disappointment in his eyes. Rukawa always feels like he is letting him down.

This morning is no different. There is no sunlight this morning, the nights of winter long and torturous. Rukawa hadn't slept at all because Sakuragi had had tears in his eyes after sex last night. He had been thinking about how to make him smile, and realized that he didn't know. After that he'd felt like crying too.

This morning Rukawa brushes a finger lightly over Sakuragi's hand. A porcelain doll he should not change. There should be distance, so that Sakuragi would not crack in his clumsy hands--and isn't that thought ridiculous, considering Sakuragi had gotten up over and over again, countless times, when they had played basketball together in Shohoku.

But Rukawa remembers darkly the last great fall that Sakuragi had taken, the one during the game against Sannoh. The one that broke his smile and nearly his dreams. He had noticed Sakuragi's pain but had chosen to ignore it, sacrificing him for the sake of victory.

What about now? Is he sacrificing him again? For what? What is there that could possibly be won this time?

Rukawa walks over to his drawer and digs beneath his underwear until his fingers come across a small box, no more than two inches long and wide. He walks over to Sakuragi on wobbly legs and sits next to him, watches the play of white morning light play across his features.

And breathes, _I love you _to him as he brushes his lips lightly with his own and then moves to place the box into Sakuragi's hand without waking him.

But Sakuragi shifts in his sleep and Rukawa freezes. Steps back. Sweat springs on his forehead, and he feels like he was just caught stealing the box, instead of giving it.

Rukawa is a prodigy when he plays basketball, his fakes smooth and his shots clean, but he is an amateur when it comes to Sakuragi, who always finds a way to keep him off center, surprised. _I can't do this_,he thinks, and shoves the box into the pocket of his jacket. _Tonight. Tonight. I'll ask him tonight._

Under the doorframe he casts a final glance at the figure laying in bed, and curses himself for being the idiot he always called Sakuragi. Then he closes the door gently, quietly, and leaves the room grey and still, except for a shock of red hair and the slow rise and fall of Sakuragi's chest.

To be continued…


	2. Sakuragi's Endurance

When he wakes up the bed is cold. Rukawa is gone again. Sakuragi tries to be optimistic, but today marks their third anniversary and Rukawa's absence seems like a cold slap across his face. He is always gone. Why should today be any different?

Jesus-fucking-Christ. His blood runs cold. Three years and Rukawa has never said a word of affection that Sakuragi can remember. He always whispers those three words that seem forbidden to come out of Rukawa's mouth. In a burst of cynical amusement, Sakuragi wonders if there is a password that he must know to hear Rukawa say he loves him, or even that he cares. If there is, he doesn't know it.

He's beginning to think he never will.

Rukawa just lays there, and sometimes he gives, but more often he takes. And after three years, this is still all they share.

No. That's wrong. Sometimes Sakuragi thinks that even sex is something selfish for Rukawa. He doesn't make a noise besides some pants and moans. And he never, _never_ calls out Sakuragi's name. Rukawa is taking everything from him, and he was more than willing to give it yesterday and all the days before that, but today...

Today he isn't. Today that seems like too much to give.

The same blind determination Sakuragi had showed during his old games in Shohoku he displays in loving Rukawa. The difference is, this time the chase for the goal is too long even for his monstrous endurance, and he can feel himself fading.

What is he waiting for? Sakuragi nearly chokes, he laughs so violently. And when he stops there are tears at the corner of his eyes, but he can just brush that off as always and convince himself that they aren't there.

Today he can't. He cries about only a few things, and he can admit now that Rukawa is one of them.

Sakuragi doesn't have large enough pieces of his heart left to break, so the only thing to lose is the hope that one day Rukawa would help put them back together again, piece by piece.

Sometimes Sakuragi thinks _he's_ going to break, just break and scatter across the floor like so much shattered glass in the wake of a car accident, tires screeching and metal sparking on pavement. Sometimes he thinks he should just leave and find someone else, something else to do, to live for.

Because if he can't get his dream, he could still get somewhere awfully close.

Maybe he should start packing his things. If he leaves now there will be no messy break-up; Sakuragi knows that if Rukawa returns to find his things gone he'd understand and that'd be the end of it. He would probably appreciate the extra space and the silence, Sakuragi thinks bitterly. He would probably find a replacement if that wasn't the case.

But after Sakuragi drags out his old, beat-up suitcase and opens it, he can't bear to put anything inside it. _It's so final_, he thinks, and then _Maybe I should give him one last chance_.

This is going on Rukawa's fifteenth last chance, and Sakuragi feels like he is betraying himself. But hey, sixteenth time's the charm.

Right?

Here Sakuragi realises how much he has changed within the time he and Rukawa were together--_are_ together. Three years ago he would not have accepted this. He would have walked out the door without ever looking back. Now he can't leave the house without being sure that Rukawa would be coming back. And he never knows for sure.

So Sakuragi goes on with his daily grind; he brushes his teeth, he combs his hair, he eats instant ramen for breakfast. He even leaves the bed unmade, because he is just _that_ optimistic.

Then, after all the nervous movement and pointless effort, he sits down on the windowsill and looks out at the world, so detached from his troubles, so careless and indifferent. He doesn't see the cars on the street below him, nor the people, nor the basketball that rolls across the black top, like a symbol from a dream. He sees the grey, tired sky of December, and it reminds him of himself.

End.


End file.
